I’ve taken nearly two months off from blogging. I’ve been busy moving, painting, arranging, and fussing. And of course there have been vacations, weekend trips, and general enjoyment of the summer. Sharing living quarters also inevitably draws time away from solitary activities like writing. And more recently there’s been a week-long bout with some nasty strep throat. During my hiatus I’ve thought of a million things to write about. None of it got written. It’s gone forever. But I’m picking it up again.

Incidentally, I have another pet peeve: I hate when someone begins a sentence with “Too, …” or even “and too, …” Is it me, or has this become a hip new turn of phrase which, due to its widespread adoption, we’ll soon all be forced to use, much like when FORmidable became forMIDable due to (I think) rather sudden etymological forces. Christ, such an irritating affectation.

Speaking of pretension . . . I picked up a used book of modern plays a few weekends ago at Ann’s parents’ house. I read the first play in the volume—Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot.” I loved the play. I can’t say I yet have a grip upon it, or even thoughts about it—It would take another reading or two, I think. But I liked its oddity. And I liked the language. (It was Beckett’s own translation from the French, for those pretentious enough to be concerned with such matters (I recently encountered one such person who expressed concern about the translation.) Here’s a sample that I liked, spoken by the character Vladimir:

Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave-digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. (He listens.) But habit is a great deadener. (He looks again at Estragon.) At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He’s sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. (Pause) I can’t go on! (Pause) What have I said?

Today things seemed to be in rare harmony. Actually, over the last couple of days this has been true. Yesterday, as I was driving home, three different drivers either cut in front of me or made other reckless maneuvers, and then realizing their errors, each waved his hand generously, signaling his apology. One sees that so rarely. Today I worked quietly all day, beginning early and being productive all day. I was engaged and not bored. I did not become hopelessly sleepy in the early afternoon. I did not surf the Internet and find a thousand other distractions. Even the very difficult music I was listening to—Ligeti concertos—seemed to come into focus. I could use more days like this.

I must post this and move on.